


His Name is Newt

by Red_Lotus



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Agender Newt Scamander, Autistic Newt Scamander, BAMF Newt Scamander, Dragons, Fluff, Gen, Hogwarts Against Rowling, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I am here to fuck up a new fandom, I did research for this fic wtf, I do what I want, I will pepper in 1000 commas, I wrote this for me and 1 other person, It’s not mentioned but he is, M/M, Mutual Pining, Newt has PTSD, Not Beta Read, Pining Newt Scamander, Pining Original Percival Graves, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Original Percival Graves, Queenie is so done with them, War hero Newt Scamander, What Have I Done, grammarly hates me, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:00:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25861711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Lotus/pseuds/Red_Lotus
Summary: When the letter arrives at Tina and Queenie’s place addressed to simply “Artemis,” the girls believe it to be a mistake and leave it on the table to be thrown out later. When Newt sees it there, he just sighs a long, suffering sigh. Newt has a secret, one he has buried for the longest time, and it has finally found him again.
Relationships: Original Percival Graves/Newt Scamander
Comments: 21
Kudos: 294





	His Name is Newt

When the letter arrives at Tina and Queenie’s place addressed to simply “Artemis,” the girls believe it to be a mistake and leave it on the table to be thrown out later. When Newt comes home from a walk in Central Park and sees it there, he just sighs a long, suffering sigh. He grips it in one hand, sitting down in the armchair by the fireplace in the living room, staring at the elegant scrawl.

You see, Newt has a secret. Theseus had left for the war believing his dear little brother to be safe and sound. Unbeknownst to him, Newt had signed up for the British army under the fake name “Artemis Greves” and eventually made his way to the Dragon Corps, specifically the 13th Dragon Regiment, better known as “ **THE** Dragon Regiment,” or the only group of dragons and dragon riders to ever succeed in the war. Their success was owed to the mysterious Captain Artemis. Artemis had just shown up at their camp one day, breezing past the soldiers with burns and missing limbs, and went on to talk sweetly to the dragons and scold the trainers for their harsh treatment of them, even going so far as to punch a higher ranking officer when the man had suggested the dragons were unfeeling beasts only to be used as weapons. 

The other soldiers were flabbergasted and, quite frankly, they were pissed off. Who was this kid to be telling them how to do their jobs? He was getting so close to the dragons too, he had to have a death wish! And yet, everyone stood back, astounded, as the kid cooed and baby-talked his way into the dragon’s hearts and accomplished what all thought impossible. 

He became the dragon rider. He flew many covert missions with his dragon partner Bluebell the Ukrainian Ironbelly and fought in the bloodiest battles on the Eastern Front. He rose up in the ranks officially, but he didn’t care for formalities or use his standing for good or bad. All the man cared personally for were his dragons, and then his fellow dragon riders as he trained an elite few to be proper riders. Not one of the riders _really_ matched his level though, or at least that’s what the group would say to him, when he would join them every few years at the remote Iron Dragon Reserve just outside Dzembronya, Ukraine. Hidden deep in the slopes of the Polonynian Beskids, there they could reminisce and refuse to remember, and fly with their dragons once again. 

They call him “The Dragon Rider, Artemis.” Newt just prefers to be called Newt. His hands begin to shake as he holds the letter, contemplating opening it. He doesn’t know how it got here, how the letter found him. He had ensured that he remained anonymous, no one was able to get in contact with Captain Artemis. The others of his company knew only to contact him for an emergency, knew that he did not care for his rank as Captain, for his place in society as a war hero. Even the thought of it makes his face contort with displeasure. _Captain Artemis he may be, but he is Newt first and foremost._

The front door opens and Queenie enters the room on her way to the kitchen, arms laden with groceries from the market. She hums a distracted hello, and then suddenly gasps, her eyes widening with barely concealed disbelief as she catches the tail end of Newt’s thoughts. She turns to him, carefully, as if afraid of spooking him. “Newt...honey are you really...?” She trails off and waits for him to answer, unwilling to invade his thoughts again. It isn’t hard to believe now, looking at the letter that they had received now in his hands, she connects all the instances—she’s done this for so many years as a legilimens that her deductive skills are lightning quick—but to think, one of her best friends, the dragon rider? Newt? Sweet, shy, darling Newt? 

She thinks back to the snippets she had gotten from him after Grindelwald's reveal on the subway, as he shook from adrenaline and barely concealed fear, making the potion that Frank the thunderbird would carry to obliviate the city of no-majs and Jacob. At the time it was impossible for his shields to remain up, and she couldn’t help but relive the memories with him as if she were him. That was the funny thing about her legillimency. Being a natural legilimens she experienced thoughts and memories as if they were her own as if she was the one going through those things. It was why Teenie had pushed so hard for her to learn occlumency and to try to shield herself, only letting those shields down around “safe” people that had no chance of traumatizing her with their memories. As the years went on though, Queenie learned no one was truly “safe,” and that even the brightest person could have the darkest trauma. She just never predicted Newt being one of them. Newt’s shielding around her was much appreciated, and it never gave her cause for suspicion.

Thinking on it harder, she distinctly remembers the prowess of _his/her magical capabilities as he/she dueled the dark wizard, as she/he remained calm and collected in the face of a rampaging obscurus._ Then, the idea of Newt being such a formidable wizard doesn’t seem quite as absurd anymore, despite his exterior presentation. 

Perhaps, even, she muses to herself, she had gotten hints all along. There was the time they were in a shop to get an ingredient for a potion, in order to heal a sick hippogriff Newt had rescued from traffickers. Something had exploded from a failed magical experiment, and next to her Newt had flinched and suddenly _she/he was back there and oh Merlin she/he was gonna die the blood was everywhere and then she/he was soaring, relieved, and laughing a wild, broken laugh as great wings took her/him away from the battlefield_ and then the memory was over, and Queenie couldn’t dwell on who it was from or what it meant because they had to evacuate the potions shop. 

She should’ve known that Newt was lying when he said he didn't really fight in the war.

Newt looks at her and sighs again, the noise dragging her out of her own thoughts. He faces his head down and stares at the shaggy carpet, fringe obscuring his eyes, unable to meet the witch’s eyes as she takes the plush leather seat directly across from him.

_He supposes it was only a matter of time before someone found out, living with a natural legilimens and all._

Queenie picks up on the thought, quietly wondering what it means that his shields are down right now as well. “I’m really sorry sweetie but you know I just can’t help it.” She offers him what she hopes to be a comforting smile. 

“I know Queenie.” His lips twitch, attempting a smile in return but eventually falling short. He sits up just a bit straighter, meeting her eyes just for a second as she attempts to catch his gaze. “But are you really...“ She trails off once again as if her mouth cannot form the words.

“Yes.” A deep sadness crosses his features as he replies, leaning back in his own wooden chair, barely resisting the urge to turn his gaze upwards and stare at a particularly interesting stain on the ceiling.

Queenie gives him a hurt look. “Why did you never tell anyone?” Her lower lip wobbles and Newt’s heart nearly breaks at that. He never meant to hurt the witch by not telling her, but it wasn’t a time of his life he liked to remember all too often. Instead, he replies with a half-truth. “I’m not a people person, Queenie, you know that. What would people think if they suddenly found out I’m a ‘war hero’?” 

The sound of a clatter behind them draws the conversation to a halt, both turning in their chairs to see none other than Tina Goldstein and Percival Graves in the doorway. It was just close to dinner time, and of course, Percival was coming over to have dinner with them that night. Tina stands in the doorway, looking like a goldfish with her mouth gaping, having just caught the tail end of the conversation. She had just dropped her suitcase from shock, causing the clunking noise, while Percival had drawn his brows together, expression unreadable.

“Newt, you’re a what now?” Tina questions, her voice strained and high pitched. She quickly shuts the door behind them after ushering Percival in, making sure to put on the muffliato charms so the sister’s landlady could not hear that they had men in the building. 

Newt stands up and whirls from his spot in the chair, surprised at the unannounced intrusion and his own failure to recognize he and Queenie were not alone. Percival motions at him to explain from his spot at the coat rack, and he sighs again before waving them in.

He makes his way to the attached kitchen, opening the cupboards with a bit of wandless magic—his wand was, predictably, stolen by Nick the niffler once again—-and pouring himself a drink of firewhiskey before returning to his spot by the fireplace and waiting for his friends to seat themselves around him and Queenie. Contrary to popular belief, Newt did enjoy a good glass of firewhiskey, and he knew this conversation would require it if he were to remain calm and not break down.

He stares into his drink, hands clasped tight around the glass with a nearly imperceptible shake to them. Queenie stands briefly, leaning over and clasping a hand on his shoulder and giving him a comforting smile before sitting again. He manages to give one back this time, although he’s sure it came out more like a grimace. 

Tina and Percival place their hat and coats in the foyer before taking their seats around the coffee table, sitting in silence waiting for him to start his explanation. 

He takes a deep breath and begins. “It was when I was expelled from Hogwarts. I had been in contact with some other magizoologists, and heard rumors that they were using Ukrainian Ironbellies on the Eastern Front.” He takes a sip of firewhiskey as he notices his voice begins to strain.

“Theseus—my brother, that is—had been drafted just months before. I wanted to help protect him, and then there were dragons and the perfect option. So I left. I enlisted under the name Artemis and made my way to the Eastern Front. I was 17.” He’s uncharacteristically solemn, expression hardened to avoid breaking. His thoughts are not rambling like usual, as if this particular admission is something he has practiced saying again and again. 

Tina suddenly stands, the force and speed of her movement knocking a stack of wizarding magazines off the table, making everybody wince. Percival carefully rights them as she disappears down the hallway, quickly returning with a book in her hands. “This, this is you? You’re Captain Artemis?” The book she holds is a dark forest green, a silver dragon stamped on the front. It is well worn, the pages are dog eared, and it’s clearly been read cover to back multiple times. “The Dragon Rider: by Walter Johnston” the title reads in the same flashy silver as the dragon on the cover. Her eyes sparkle with excitement as she looks to Newt for an answer. 

Newt sighs, dragging a hand over his face and mentally cursing Johnston and all the rest of the riders. “Yes. No one outside my company knows except for you three, and maybe Albus. He seems to know everything. Especially the things you don’t want him to. The bugger is probably the one who sent this.” He attempts a grin, waving the unopened letter clutched between his fingers and rolling his eyes.

Because it was heavily classified, his rank as Captain and involvement in the war had remained off his record. As far as anyone knew, Newt Scamander had stayed home in England during most of the war and only caught the tail end as a volunteer. They had tried to find the real Captain Artemis after the war, but almost no one could. After a few years, the owls that actually could find him decreased, and he had been blessedly letter free for three years. 

“It’s not really that big of a deal honestly Johnston always exaggerates anyways-” Newt continues, cutting himself off when he looks at Percival. He quickly looks down, face turning scarlet because the Auror, Director of Magical Security, Percival Graves‘ face has been transformed with awe, and Newt with his tiny, imperceptible really, crush on the man, cannot handle having that expression directed at him. Certainly not when he felt like he didn’t deserve it. 

Percival slowly closes his mouth, clearing his throat before addressing the magizoologist. “Mr.Scamander, you and your dragon saved my life.”

“I’m sorry?” Newt’s head jerks back up, eyes wide in surprise and confusion about the statement. As far as he remembers he had never met Percival Graves before, prior to saving him from Grindelwald’s captivity.

“I was on the Eastern Front on loan to Russian troops for a few months. There was one battle that was particularly bad, the Winter Battle of the Masurian Lakes. I was facing off with several dark wizards while severely injured and thought that would be the last of me when a dragon and rider swept in and took care of them with fire. Then the rider in the blue hippogriff mask grabbed me and brought me back to camp. The healers said I would’ve bled out if not for “the strange man in the mask” bringing me back.” Percival explains, crossing one ankle over the other and leaning back in his chair as if he is remembering the moment vividly. 

“Oh,” Newt replies. As he studies the man, Newt can see the age lines melt away and his hair lengthen, the silver disappearing and losing the slicked-back look. He can see the blood trickling down his face again, the man’s body lying unconscious in a snowdrift nearly the size of his dragon. He quickly blinks to dispel the image. Newt has saved a lot of people during his time in the Dragon Corps, but he never made the connection between Percival Graves and the soldier Percival he saved on the field. Now, though, he can certainly see the resemblance.

“You’ve saved me twice now Mr. Scamander,” Percival states, mouth curved in a rare smile. He runs a hand through his hair to hide how awkward he was feeling in the face of his hero. He was certainly attracted to Newt before, but now that he knew he was his savior, twice? Well...that certainly didn’t help things. Percival Graves was not an awkward man, but when faced with feelings, he’d duel them if it were physically possible.

“I suppose I have, Mr. Graves,” Newt replies, grinning back. Queenie smirks at the two, standing and making her way to the kitchen to make Percival feel more comfortable as she sensed his struggle with feelings. She didn’t need legilimency to sense how the awkwardness was hanging in the air. 

The Director and Magizoologist continue to give each other near blinding, flirty, but awkward grins as she leaves. She swears she is but moments away from slapping the both of them, gently, and telling them to confess. The two had been dancing around each other ever since Newt returned to New York to help with a case of fire crab smuggling, and honestly, it was pitiful. Percival could not be more of a ridiculously besotted man—as she often remarked to President Picquery during their late-night gossip sessions—and yet Newt’s lack of self-confidence would not allow him to entertain the notion that the Director could ever be interested in him. 

“How come no one has ever recognized you?” Tina inquires as Queenie sets the tea kettle on the stove and begins to prepare a small snack for the group, keeping her mind and ears on the conversation just a room away.

“Oh, that um, it’s the mask. It’s imbued with a few false memory, and identification confusion charms, and a modified disillusionment charm. Johnston helped with a few of them.” Newt explains, gesturing to his face before waving his hand in a complicated gesture. Soon his face is obscured by a glittering shield of what looks to be pure magic, almost making his face blend in with the room. Not impenetrable, and you could certainly identify him if you spent enough time with him, but paired with the mask and it was nearly impossible.

“And Johnston, he’s the-“ Percival begins to ask, leaning forward to better hear the man before being cut off.

“The author of the book, yes.” Newt grimaces at the reminder of his “war buddy” as Johnston liked to call himself. It’s not that he was all that unpleasant, Newt just hated to be reminded of him. “I’d really have preferred if it had remained buried, but the statute has expired so I cannot legally stop him from publishing. I see you’ve already gotten it.” He comments wryly, pointing to the book Tina is still holding in barely masked disdain. 

Tina grins sheepishly. “It is quite a good book you know. Is it true you apparated from the back of one dragon to another mid-flight?”

“Good or not, Johnston knew what would happen if he published it. Now he and Lilia Volkov are getting swamped by the press. Thank Merlin I escaped that.” Newt leans back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck as if the thought of reporters physically pains him. Percival could certainly sympathize with the man. After briefings on serious cases, he often felt as if he needed a healing potion or two after those dogs were done tearing him to pieces. 

Tina furrows her brows, confused at Newt’s apparent irritation with the situation. “Don’t you want recognition for what you did for the war?” 

“Not really.” He remarks flatly. “Not a people person, you know. And I don’t doubt that if ‘seus found out about it now he’d ground me.” he groans as if the idea pains him.

“You're an adult?” Queenie questions incredulously as she returns from the kitchen floating a tea tray and scones.

“You haven’t met him. Believe me, he’d find a way to do so.” Newt replies dryly.

Tina helps herself to a cup of tea and a scone “Thanks Queenie.” before settling in her chair more firmly and diving deep into thought.

Percival lifts his own cup, muttering a quick thanks. “You didn’t answer the first question, Newt.” he points out, helpfully. Bugger, Newt thought he was about to get away with that one. He’d jinx Percival, but the man is far too pretty for that. Queenie giggles as she picks up on it and Newt quickly resolves to stop thinking all thoughts about Percival Graves and how gorgeous he is.

“Yes, I did. I did it a few times. Does that satisfy you?” 

Tina grins smugly, not deterred by how cross he sounds. “Yes, very much thank you.” 

“So what now? Aren’t you going to open that?” Percival questions, gesturing to the letter still unopened on the table. Newt turns his gaze down and glares at it as if the power of his glare alone will make it burst into flames. Before he can do anything, Tina snatches the letter, opening it deftly. 

“Dear Captain Artemis, you are hereby cordially invited to this year’s Great War Heroes Ball at The Bloomsbury Ballroom in London, England. You and the other riders of your company will have a commendation ceremony and opportunity to meet with Lieutenant General Fawley.” Tina reads the letter out. “Oh Newt, that’s so exciting!” She remarks, eyes sparkling with joy.

Newt groans, much to their surprise, and places his face in his hands. “Fawley has always hated me, he’s not going to be happy that I’m “the most esteemed Captain Artemis” as he likes to say.” He rolls his eyes, looking exasperated.

“So you’ll go?” Queenie asks gently, not wanting to pressure him but thrilled about the idea, and particularly the location. The Bloomsbury Ballroom was absolutely grand, the wizarding portion magically expanded with undetectable expansion charms so as to leave room for both tables and a large dance floor. She had only ever seen it in photos detailing high life in Britain, so the chance to go if she could make her way as a plus one was almost too good to pass up.

“I don’t think I have much of a choice. Johnston would make the dragons eat me next time if I’m not there with them.” Newt replies wryly. He’s joking, but also not entirely. The riders had been talking for ages about what would happen when their efforts were revealed to the greater wizarding world, and now that it had happened, they were always trying to cajole him into accepting his accolades. If they went and he didn’t, they may very well have a nasty surprise waiting for him at the dragon reserve next time he returns. Merlin knew how much of a trickster Becker was.

“Oh, I know just the thing for you to wear!” Queenie claps her hands excitedly, and Newt turns to Percival, begging the man silently for help as she and Tina begin to scheme.

The Director just shrugs and offers a sympathetic glance. “I have been invited as well, so you won’t be alone in the bureaucracy Mr. Scamander,” he remarks good-humoredly, mouth quirked in a comforting smile. 

Newt grins around his cup of tea, curling up in the chair and bracing himself for the sisters’ onslaught of ideas. _Well, as long as he had Percival by his side, perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad._

***

Newt enters the ballroom, Percival to the left side of him. He’s still slightly unsteady on his feet, reeling from the effects of the portkey they had to take. No matter how many times he used them, Newt never got used to portkey travel and it always made him quite nauseous. He much preferred apparating or muggle travel for that reason. 

Tina had opted to stay home, but assured the magizoologist that all would be alright and that she would “be there in spirit.” Queenie had quickly made her off to the side of the ballroom after exchanging good luck wishes, chatting with some witch from the MACUSA wand permits department who was there to support her husband. Newt had agreed to take her as his plus one and sighed now that he no longer had her to calm him. 

Newt turned to his left, looking for Percival, only to notice he had also gotten caught up talking to Auror Collins. Another one down and Newt was by himself. 

He fidgeted with his hippogriff shaped cufflinks and pulled down his emerald green waistcoat, loosening his tie to breathe better as he looked for someone he would recognize. He had left his familiar blue coat with a house-elf after Queenie assured him that he looked just fine. She had been the one to dress him, and while he didn’t doubt her fashion capabilities, he was less than comfortable in something so...eye catching. “You look great, Newt.” Percival had said when they emerged from the bedroom with Newt dressed nearly to the nines. Newt had quickly turned away to hide his blush, mumbling a quick “you do too” to the man. They remained that way, both blushing and avoiding each other’s gazes until it was time to take the portkey to London. He wonders what it means, that Percival was blushing as well. Could it be, that maybe his feelings were returned?

So lost in his thoughts he is, that he doesn’t notice when he nearly walks into someone else. 

“Ah Scamander, so glad you could make it to support your brother.” The man turns his nose up at Newt, obviously unimpressed with his dress, and sips from his champagne. 

“Minister Fawley, a pleasure,” Newt replies curtly. He is not looking forward to the reveal to this man. Hector Fawley had always endeavored to make his brief employment at the office for House-Elf Relocation in the Ministry of Magic be the worst appointment possible when Fawley was still only head Auror, before Newt joined the Beast Division. Even then with less say in his job, the man had managed to make his life...complicated and tedious, to say the least. 

“Do you know where Sergeant Johnston is? I thought I would like to offer my congratulations on the book deal personally.” He inquires, looking around so as to convey to the man he is not interested in whatever he had to say to him. A bit rude, yes, but both mutually disliked each other, and Newt was eager to escape any impending conversation. 

“Yes well, you _authors_ do have to stick together I suppose.” Fawley sneers “He’s just over there with Lady Volkov” 

Newt frowns. “Warrant Officer Volkov, you mean. She is a WO2.” He corrects.

“Yes, quite.” 

Newt turns, his mouth turned downwards in displeasure to the man behind him. Fawley had always had...less than pleasant ideas about women in the military to say the least, and would rarely give them the respect they deserved. Volkov was promoted to Warrant Officer Class 2, or WO2, of the company after Newt became Captain. She was crucial to their efforts, and he and Johnston absolutely hated it when anyone tried to erase her. Johnston would always say the only reason he was successful as a Sergeant was because Volkov was the WO2. How Fawley ever became Minister of Magic he could never say, though it most likely had to do with his rank as Lieutenant General and good standing with previous Minister Evermonde, however undeserved. 

He’s just about to make his way to Johnston when he smells the distinct smell of raw magic in the air. A second later and a loud crack of apparition and the room is suddenly much fuller as a dozen dark wizards start flinging curses at the party-goers. He quickly ducks behind a pillar in the ballroom to avoid a stinging hex, wincing as he hears a witch scream. No doubt this is the work of Grindelwald and his lackeys again. 

The dark wizards draw back from the middle of the room and Newt throws a few charms of his own to one trying to creep up on his right, a combination of a jelly leg jinx and confundus charm to make them think their legs have disappeared. Dark wizards don’t normally look to counteract what they view to be schoolboy level spells, which is what made Newt’s tactic so perfectly effective. The Aurors and war heroes are just seeming to wrap up the fighting when suddenly a great _boom_ sounds and shakes the foundation of the very building. The roof begins to collapse, and Newt quickly rolls out of the way of the pillar he was previously behind as it collapses. He can only pray Queenie got out alright. 

He hears screaming and quickly scans the dusty room for Percival to get a sense of the situation and what the man wanted him to do. Finally, he locks eyes with him and shouts over the din in an effort to be heard “What just happened?” 

“Someone thought it would be funny to release a dragon!” Percival shouts back, blocking curse after curse from a wizard and sending a knee reversing hex back, quickly taking them out with a knockback jinx as they struggle to right themselves and forcing them into a full-body bind.

Newt nods as he registers the statement and turns and looks behind him. Through the thick dust that is beginning to settle he can see smoke and flames. A deafening roar shakes the entire room once again, and his eyes widen as he identifies the creature behind it. _a Ukrainian Ironbelly._

He quickly sheds his waistcoat to the ground, leaving his arms free and jumping over debris to make his way to where he spots Percival and Johnston working together to force two witches back into a corner. Newt locks eyes with Johnston, giving him a nearly imperceptible nod before disapparating. 

“What is he doing?!” Percival shouts. Johnston just grins at him and points to the direction of the dragon, now visible and clearly angry. “Just wait and watch!” He shouts.

Percival’s eyes widen as Newt appears in the front of the dragon, only able to hold his breath as he casts a wandless spell to finish the fight and bind the witches behind them. Newt has somehow retrieved his signature blue coat and is holding it out with one arm. He puts two fingers in his mouth, making a sharp whistle that seems to draw the fighting to a halt as they all take notice of the wizard approaching and not running away from the dragon. The dragon, too, takes notice and stops spouting flames for merely a second to stare at the man. 

Newt takes that as notice to begin, barely sidestepping from a large flame as he grips the sides of his coat with both arms, flapping twice, stamping his feet and letting out a high pitched trill. The dragon stares and all watch with bated breath until it repeats the motion, great wings sweeping up dust before forcing it back down. Newt, the madman, just grins like a loon. 

“Ilya!” He shouts. The dragon huffs, makes a cooing noise, and lowers her head down. Newt steps forward, and all Percival can think is _Morgana’s tits he’s going to get eaten._

Newt reaches the dragon’s muzzle, laying one hand on it as he inspects her for any injuries. “Oh Ilya you poor thing, now how did you get here? You’re supposed to be back at the reserve you know darling.” The dragon, Ilya, chuffs again and coos, pushing her head softly into his hand as if asking for scratches. “Well aren’t you still just a little cuddle bunny.” He giggles, obliging happily, and moves over quickly as the dragon flops to her side to ask for belly rubs.

Percival cannot believe his eyes. Everyone is flabbergasted, watching Newt Scamander crawl over the literal belly of a dragon, scratching it like it’s nothing more than an overexcited puppy. The remaining Aurors and war heroes have taken advantage of the momentary distraction and have rounded up the rest of the attacking wizards, forcing them into a back corner. 

“Mr. Scamander I demand you explain this at once!” Minister Fawley shouts at the man, putting out his still flaming pants and making sure to stay far away from the dragon in the middle of the room. Volkov stands next to him, paired with him for the fight as she was, and pats flames off the man’s coat, though he quickly brushes her off with disdain. 

“It’s Artemis!” Newt shouts back, scratching Ilya’s belly with both of his hands at once, the dragon making a happy trilling noise from deep in her throat. She flaps one wing against the ground, scaring away a group of witches and wizards who had dared get closer to witness the bizarre scene. 

“What?” The Minister questions, unsure of what the magizoologist means by that. He doesn’t dare to get closer to the dragon, no matter how surprisingly tame it may look at the moment. 

Newt draws his shoulders back, sliding off of the dragon’s belly and giving her one last pat as she rights herself. He turns to address the silent crowd in front of him, taking note of his brother to the left. He takes a deep breath, breaking out into a small smile when Ilya bumps him from behind in a show of support. “My name is Newt Scamander, and I am Captain Artemis.” The crowd turns uproarious.

“Scamander the younger? Well, I never!”

“That’s not possible!”

“Well, we did just see him tame a dragon with our very eyes.”

“For all we know it escaped from his blasted case!”

“Oh shut up all of you and listen to the man.” That one sounds suspiciously like his mentor. Merlin knows Albus would burn all his bridges in one statement just to defend him.

Newt makes his way to the Minister, carefully stepping over crumbled pieces of the building and sidestepping small fires. He stops in front of the man. “Lieutenant General Fawley, I am Captain Artemis Greves.” He holds out his hand in an offer to shake it. 

“You’re joking.” The man deadpans. “You, the war hero Artemis? Hardly.” He sniffs in disdain, ignoring the hand and Volkov behind him—who is giving Newt a rather awkward thumbs up—in favor of looking to Johnston across the room. The rider is grinning like a loon as Percival is attempting to pick his jaw up off the floor. “Sergeant Johnston, what is the meaning of this?” 

“It’s true Fawley, Sir,” the man remarks “Scamander is Artemis, Artemis is Scamander. We’ve been in contact with him ever since the war, but the bloody bastard never wanted to take credit for his deeds.” The man ribs, quickly crossing the room to sling an arm around Newt’s shoulders. Newt barely dodges the attempt at a noogie, giving Ilya behind him a look warning her to behave as she approaches the group. 

Volkov steps from behind the Minister and makes her way to the two them, stamping her feet twice as well in greeting to the dragon before turning to the magizoologist. “Captain.” She states, giving a small smile as she salutes him. 

Newt shakes head fondly. “I am never going to get you to call me by my first name, am I?” He questions rhetorically. 

“No Sir.” She replies, grinning smugly. Even when she had found out Scamander’s real name she had refused to call him anything but his rank. Only Johnston was the exception, as much as she fancied the man, though she would never tell him that. His head would grow too big.

Minister Fawley stares at the group, dumbfounded. “Is this a joke?” He demands, looking around as if a reporter is just waiting to catch him looking ridiculous for the papers. 

“No joke here, Sir. Scamander is the best of the best.” Johnston replies. 

Newt turns to the dragon, patting her muzzle again. “This is Ilya, she was Private Roberts’ dragon and a favorite of mine. She’s supposed to be on the reserve, but if I hazard a guess I’d say those people-“ he gestures to the wizards now tied up in the corner “took advantage of Johnston and Volkov being gone from the reserve and decided to try and steal the eggs.” He glares at the dark wizards, and they shrink back from him, although if it’s him or the dragon behind him no one can say for sure. 

Fawley just stares “Well then, Captain” he grits his teeth as he pronounces the words as if it physically pains him “thank you for your service. The awards ceremony will have to be rescheduled and you are free to leave.” At that he takes his leave, barely giving Newt a passing glance. 

“Wow Art, what the hell did you do to piss him off?” Johnston asks.

“I relocated his family’s house-elf.”

“You what?”

“He wasn’t treating her right, so I relocated her.”

Johnston whistles, Volkov wincing and shushing the dragon that has now begun to nudge both of them in an effort to find food. 

Percival approaches the group, careful to give the dragon a wide berth and comes up to the magizoologist “Mr.Scamander” he starts, before correcting himself “Newt...that was one hell of a show there.” 

Newt quirks a brow. “No show about it. I have been teaching you about Ukrainian Ironbellies, what did you expect?”

Percival shakes his head fondly. “Well, I certainly didn’t expect that.” 

President Picquery, having served in the war, is there as well, and from the looks of things seems to be beckoning Percival over. He sighs. 

“Duty calls.” 

“I’ll find you later, Mr. Graves.” Newt gives him a comforting smile. 

Percival walks away, and Newt turns, only to then be accosted by another man who spins him around. He tenses first a moment, before relaxing as he recognizes his brother.

“So, Newtie” he winces at the name, not looking his brother in the eye “just when oh when oh dear brother of mine were you going to tell me you worked with bloody dragons!” 

“Preferably never.” Newt mumbles.

“Really Newton, you’d think you were raised better so as to not lie to your brother.”

“You’re not father, Theese,” Newt remarks, rolling his eyes at his brother’s antics.

“No, but I am apparently your commanding officer” Theseus comments wryly.

“Actually, that would be Lieutenant Colonel Kolisnyk.” He turns and waves to the woman, giving her a bright smile as she rolls her eyes and waves back from where she is righting an overturned table, scorched by dragon’s flames.

Newt looks to his brother, taking a second to register his look but shouting when he does “No, ‘seus you are not going to flirt with my Commanding Officer!!”

“Aww but Newtie you had all the fun!” The man grins, waggling his eyebrows.

“Absolutely not”

He holds up his hands to placate him “I was just joking little brother, no need”

“Yes right, joking.”

“Arty-wait. Artemis. Did you _seriously_ choose _Artemis_ to enlist as?”

He grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and refusing to face his brother’s incredulous expression. “It was what came to me!” 

Just then Percival approaches the two brothers, and Newt is so relieved he could kiss the man. He wouldn’t, not with his brother here, but he absolutely could.

“I’m not interrupting anything am I?” Percival asks, resting a light hand on Newt’s arm. His “Newt is uncomfortable” senses had tingled and he had taken leave from Picquery’s questioning, politely ignoring her comment of “go get him Graves” he made his way over to the Scamander brothers. 

Theseus raises a brow at seeing Percival’s hand on his brother’s arms but doesn’t comment on it. “Not at all old friend, I was just about to find Auror O’Donnel and begin sorting out these criminals.” He stares at Percival for a second, before turning back to Newt. “Don’t think you’ve gotten away with this little brother, you’ll still have to answer to mother.” Newt winces at the reminder. Ophelia Scamander was not the woman to be trifled with, and both brothers shuddered to think of the punishment she would draw up for him.

Theseus gives him a pat on the back before walking away. He’s just made it nearly halfway across the room when he passes, turning to look at Percival again. ”Do take care of him for me Percival.” 

Percival smiles wryly. He rather thinks Newt can take care of himself, though he would not mind doing so as well. His features soften, turning to a genuine caring expression “I will.” He calls back. 

The two of them watch Theseus walk away, before disappearing in the throng of British Aurors that have flooded the room to begin transporting the criminals. 

Percival turns to Newt, squeezing his arm softly. “Would you like to come back to mine, Newt? I can acquire a portkey.”

“I’d like that very much Mr. Graves, but Ilya-” he cuts off, startled when someone comes from behind and places a hand on his shoulder. Johnston smiles, almost more of a leer, and gestures to Volkov behind him. “We got her, Art, got a portkey back tonight anyway and I could use some alone time with Lilia if you know what I mean.” He waggles his eyebrows, obviously suggesting something crass, and Newt rolls his eyes. 

“Well if you’re sure you have it handled.”

“I’m sure lad,” Johnston replies, holding a finger out to ask Volkov to wait a minute.

Newt smiles and turns back to Percival. “Then yes Mr.Graves, I will accompany you home.” 

“Please, call me Percival” 

“Alright...Percival.”

As they lock arms and Percival leads him outside and to the apparition point, Newt pointedly ignores Johnston in the background making crude gestures at them.

***  
They settle down on the couch together, knees knocking, neither of them making a move to put distance between the two of them as they sip their tea. Percival takes a big swallow, before placing the teacup back down on the tray and wincing at how loud the sound was. “Newt I need to tell you...That is I wanted you to know” Percival stammers uncharacteristically, ignoring the concerned look Newt is giving him, he inhales and exhales deeply to dispel his worries and tries again. “I’m in love with you. I have been, for quite some time actually. Ever since the fire crabs, I think. I just... needed to tell you that. And I don’t care that you’re Artemis, or well I do care, but it doesn’t make me see you differently and I won’t treat you differently. I just wanted to know if I had a chance?” 

“Percival I-you have more than a chance. I thought I didn’t have a chance with you.” Newt replies, eyes glistening with happy tears. He had always thought Percival could never love him back, and it was a welcome shock to hear that he did.

Percival smiles and moves closer, laying a hand lightly on the magizoologist’s arm. “Can I kiss you?” He asks softly, cheeks turning pink.

“Oh, Percival” Newt grins happily before surging in to kiss the man and shut him up, “I thought you’d never ask.”

They trade soft kisses back and forth, feather-light touches of lips and whispered words of adoration before parting with giggles and smiles. 

Percival looks to the clock as they part the last time “It’s getting late. Would you perhaps want to sleep over?” upon seeing Newt’s conflicted expression he clarified “Sleep, just sleep. I’m an old man and I don’t know about you but dealing with rampaging dragons tires me out.”

Newt seats his arm playfully. “You’re not old, but yes, I’d love to. Just let me feed my creatures first.” He stands, stretching and cracking his back and smirking at Percival’s enamored look.

Percival clears his throat, embarrassed to be caught staring so obviously. “Perhaps I could join you?” 

Newt puts his hands on his hips and purses his lips as if he has to think long and hard about the answer. “Well, I could use the help, as long as you promise not to enable Nick again,” He comments cheekily “and don’t think I didn't see you giving the occamies extra bugs last time.”

Percival holds up his hands, blush tinting his face a handsome red. “Guilty, but they are quite adorable. Just like their mummy.”

“Oh hush you,” Newt mumbles as he opens his suitcase and climbs in, Percival following right behind him.

***  
Rounds over and all creatures fed and tucked into their beds, the two make their way to the bed in Percival’s room, losing their outer clothing and trading sweet kisses the entire way. As Newt struggles with his waistcoat, Percival tugs it off with a bit of wandless magic before falling back to the bed and dragging the magizoologist back with him, chuckling at the surprised yelp. 

Newt gives him a half-hearted glare, before situating them both on the bed and tangling their legs together. Percival gazes into his eyes with a tired smile and pushes the hair out of Newt’s eyes. “I love you, Newt Scamander.” 

“And I love you, Percival Graves.” They yawn, one after the other, and with a softly murmured “nox” the room is plunged into comforting darkness. 

Newt cuddles deeper into Percival’s chest, smiling fondly as the sleepy man wraps an arm around him in an attempt to pull him even closer. He closes his eyes and lets Morpheus claim him, wishing for the sweetest dreams with Percival by his side. 

They call him The Dragon Rider. His name is Newt.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly wrote this for me and 1 other person, but if you enjoy it please feel free to comment! If enough people do I might actually make this a series and expand on Newt’s time in the war. We’re a plural system and this fic is based off of our fictive Newt’s exomemories. He doesn’t properly appreciate how much of a badass he is so I had to do it for him.
> 
> Also I spent a lot of time flushing this AU out so if you have questions please ask!
> 
> Hippogriff mask Newt wears as Artemis is here https://imgur.com/a/SuQRXDw


End file.
